Touching Down

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I did,” I said, clasping my hands together, knowing this was as good a segue as any.

  His head turned my way for a moment. “You’re not a hygienist anymore?”

  I answered with a shake of my head.

  “Why not?” he asked simply, though the answer was anything but simple.

  Why not? There were a hundred different ways to bridge the topic, but all I could think of was one—the blunt truth. I’d hoped to ease him into it instead of just laying it out there. Grant had dealt with plenty of harsh truths in his life, and so had I. That was the reason I wanted to finesse this one. So it was easier to accept when I spelled it all out.

  He’d just turned down Turner Avenue, and the motel wasn’t far. I didn’t have the time or presence of mind to do this the right way tonight.

  “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  My abrupt question seemed to surprise him. Or at least unsettle him. His carefully composed expression fell just long enough for me to notice he’d been expecting any other question than that one.

  “Not much. My flight doesn’t leave for New York until the next morning.”

  Thank god. Knowing how crazy his schedule had to be, I’d been worried he’d leave tomorrow. “Could we get together? You know, to catch up?”

  “Ryan . . .” His hands slid down the steering wheel.

  “As friends,” I clarified immediately, guessing his hesitation was stemming from the fact that he’d been burned once by me and wasn’t eager for a repeat. “As friends and nothing more.”

  He let that settle in the air for a minute as he pulled into the parking lot of the motel I pointed at. After he pulled into a spot, he inspected the motel the way he had the dark streets back in The Clink—like he was gauging their level of safety. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t his responsibility anymore. I wanted to tell him that I’d been keeping myself safe for years and he could let go of the fear of something happening to me.

  “This is where you’re staying?” His gaze drifted to the front desk, where a middle-aged man was scratching his head and watching something on a small television.

  “For now.”

  “This isn’t a very good part of town.” He looked over his shoulder out the back window, scanning the streets.

  I scanned the same streets with him, lifting a brow. I clearly wasn’t seeing what he was when he looked around. “I spent seventeen years in one of the worst neighborhoods in the country. This is paradise.”

  His eyes darted along the two floors of rooms, probably checking for burnt-out lights and figures lurking in the shadows. “Are you staying alone?”

  Instead of going with the truth or a lie, I answered in a different way. “Grant, I’m fine.”

  When my hand dropped to the handle, he twisted in his seat toward me. “What time were you thinking tomorrow night?”

  A wash of relief flooded me. He wasn’t shutting me out. At least not yet. “Seven? If that works for you?”

  Grant didn’t take a second to check his calendar or to think about it. “That works for me. I’ll pick you up here since I’m not sure if your car will be done by then.”

  My car. I’d almost forgotten about it. “That would be great, thanks.”

  When I swung the door open, Grant went to open his. “Let me walk you to your room.”

  “No,” I replied immediately. When I noticed the surprised look on his face, I gave him a little smile. “I’ve been taking care of myself for seven years now, and I’ve done a pretty good job of it. Besides, it’s not your job anymore. You’ve already done more than enough tonight.”

  His jaw went rigid, but he nodded. “Fine. But wave from the door once you get inside.”

  Pulling the motel key from my purse, I nodded. “I can manage that.”

  I stood outside the truck door, not moving. I needed to say good-bye, but I couldn’t get the word out. I hated good-bye and the whole meaning behind it. It didn’t matter if it was the temporary kind or the permanent kind, because really, we didn’t have any control over it. Life made that decision for us.

  “I’m sorry.” The words that spilled past my lips bubbled up from deep inside me. “I’m so sorry for what I did. For how I hurt you.” I couldn’t look at him as I said everything—it was hard enough getting it out without choking on each word. “You were the one person in the world I never wanted to hurt, and I was the one who hurt you more than any one person ever deserves. I’m so sorry.”

  While I couldn’t do more than glance at him, I was all he seemed capable of looking at. Leaning across the seat, he waited for me to meet his stare. He kept waiting.

  The moment my eyes finally met his, he said, “That was another lifetime, Ryan. Another fucking life. We’ve both moved on, and that’s behind us now. Let’s leave it there, okay?”

  I nodded, but my heart knew the truth. It wasn’t behind us. It wasn’t a different life. The only way to move forward was to delve back into the past.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I was up with the sun, as was typical. I was exhausted most of the day, but as soon as I crawled into bed, I couldn’t sleep. Sipping my watered down motel room coffee, I scanned through a list of rental houses in the area. I wasn’t sure I wanted to settle down here, but I couldn’t stay in a motel indefinitely either.

  Now that Aunt May was gone, I didn’t have anyone else who felt like family. Grant was the next closest person, which was sad. The next closest person in my life was someone I hadn’t spoken to in seven years.

  So I figured this was as good a place as any to find a little house to rent and settle into. At least I knew some people who lived in the area, had the inside knowledge on the best takeout, and was confident the cost of living was within my budget. At least for the moment. Where Grant was, up in the heart of New York City, I didn’t even want to know what a little house would cost to rent. I probably couldn’t even afford a coat closet there.

  As I scanned the rental listings, I bookmarked a few to check out, then I wandered to the front door to soak up a little bit of sunshine in my bathrobe before the rest of the world woke up. The perks of becoming an insomniac included being awake to witness the sunrise. Before the past year, I’d maybe watched a handful of sunrises, but now, I’d watched ninety-three. Ninety-four, counting the one I was about to witness.

  The motel was a fairly quiet one, but it was clean and had nice big rooms, complete with a full kitchen. Plus, it was affordable, which was something I had to consider every time I pulled my wallet out, even if it was only to buy ice cream. I’d saved up a fair amount, but now that I wasn’t working, that number would only shrink. I needed it to last as long as possible.

  As I started unlocking the two chain locks before undoing the deadbolt, I smiled, thinking about how Grant would have at least approved of the locks on the motel’s doors. He’d looked so concerned last night when he dropped me off—like this place wasn’t fit to sit out a life sentence in.

  Grant had always taken over protection to an extreme, but he had legitimate reasons for it. With the stuff we’d seen on a daily basis—with the stuff we’d both gone through—there was no practical way to stay safe unless a person was overprotective. It didn’t help that Grant’s and my first meeting had occurred when a troubled, pissed-off-at-the-world teenage boy was saving a terrified nine-year-old girl from the scum of the earth.

  The same scum her mother had invited into their apartment, only to pass out from the drugs said scum had shot into her veins. No doubt his whole plan was to get me alone.

  Grant’s overprotective streak had been birthed from a place of necessity, but I’d gone so long without it that last night felt especially intense. I’d doubted he’d changed any, but I had. I’d figured out that all of that protection was only an illusion, because it couldn’t save us from what we were all ultimately running from.

  As soon as I swung the door open, I stepped outside into the chill of the morning air. Closing my eyes, I tipped
my face toward the sun, ready to let it warm me, when I suddenly got the impression I wasn’t alone.

  Not even a little bit.

  I heard the explosion of noise come to life a second before my eyes popped open. It only dialed up a few decibels, as people holding cameras and microphones came charging across the parking lot toward where I was hovering outside of my motel room. In my bathrobe. Hair a cyclone on top of my head. Drool probably still dried on the side of my mouth.

  The surprise of it all froze me in place for a minute, but then I heard a name being shouted by one of the people now waving their microphones and cameras in my face. His name.

  Shit. Of course. Why else would a million reporters be hanging outside of the Starlight Motel at six o’clock on a Tuesday morning?

  Someone must have recognized him or his truck last night and tipped off the press. Damn. I hadn’t even considered all that came with Grant being who he was today. I mean, yeah, I knew he was an icon, but I hadn’t really considered the spillover into other facets of his life.

  Like the nation’s media camping out outside the motel room of the woman he’d been caught dropping off the night before.

  With a dozen questions a second firing at me, I was finally able to move. Flying back into the room, I slammed the door closed, relocked every last dead bolt and chain, and raced to where my phone was sitting on the table. My heart was hammering as I punched in a number. It wasn’t one I’d programmed into my phone. It wasn’t one I’d called in years. It wasn’t one I was sure was even still in operation.

  It was a number from my past, one I thought I’d long ago forgotten until the numbers came rushing back.

  There was a click on the other end. Just when I was expecting an automated message about this number no longer being in service, his voice greeted me instead. “Hello?” He didn’t sound like he’d been asleep.

  “Grant?” I exhaled with relief. “It’s—”

  “What’s the matter, Ryan?” In the background, I heard some noise like he was moving around quickly.

  “I don’t know.” Too much adrenaline was coursing through me, my heart still throbbing. “There’re people, lots of them, outside.” I could only speak in broken thoughts and sentences.

  “What people?” The background noise came to a sudden quiet.

  My mind searched for the word. The very word that was on the top of my mind, but I couldn’t pull from the hard drive. Moments like this drove me crazy. They made me feel like I’d already lost my mind, and that only made finally latching onto the word that much more difficult.

  “Ryan?” Grant’s voice was sharp, worry making it so.

  “The press.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I knew I’d arrived at them. “They’re here. Dozens of them. Asking me a bunch of questions about you.”

  There was a minute of silence, the only noise the sound of my heart echoing in my eardrums. Then it sounded like he’d lowered the phone before popping off a few colorful words.

  “I’ll be right there.” His voice was surprisingly collected. “Just stay where you are. I’ll come around back and call you when I’m outside.”

  “Wait . . . no. Grant?”

  But I was too late. The phone had already gone dead.

  When his text came saying he was waiting out back, the clock on the wall suggested that fifteen minutes had gone by, but it felt like I’d just exhaled and Grant was here. I could still hear the buzz of the media out front, and I could just make out the faint rumble of his truck out back. When I’d checked into the motel two days ago, I’d been apprehensive about having two ways to get in and out, but in this instance, it felt like more of a blessing.

  Never mind the fact that I couldn’t leave.

  Cinching the tie of my robe tighter, I moved toward the back door quietly. I unlocked the door and opened it to find Grant’s truck about as close to the building as it could get without damaging it, the passenger door already thrown open.

  “What are you doing in a bathrobe?” Grant looked fresh from a shower and was in an old pair of jeans and an inside-out T-shirt. He didn’t have any shoes on. He’d obviously left his hotel in a hurry. “Never mind. Just jump in and let’s get out of here.” When I stayed where I was, silent and still, his brows pulled together. “Ryan, come on.”

  My body gave a sudden tremble, which Grant must have interpreted as me being too nervous or scared to move because he started to slide down the bench to come help me.

  “I can’t leave,” I whispered.

  “It’s fine. We can get you some clothes later, but we need to get out of here before they figure out we’re back here.” Grant kept sliding out of his truck.

  “I’m not leaving, Grant.” My voice wasn’t a whisper this time. “I can’t.”

  He stopped moving, his brows drawing together. “Why not?”

  My lungs filled. “Because I can’t.”

  When I looked into the motel room then back at the truck, Grant’s expression went blank. One moment later it cleared, his brows drawing together.

  “I am one dumb fucker, aren’t I?” He huffed as his head shook. “You’ve got someone in there with you, don’t you?” He only waited a moment. “Don’t you?”

  My silence must have confirmed it for him. Or maybe it was my expression. “Grant—”

  “Don’t, Ryan. Just fucking don’t.” He scooted back behind the steering wheel, glaring out the window. “You called, and I showed up two minutes later like the idiot I am.”

  My mind was struggling to find the right thing to say to him, the right way to explain everything, but nothing would come.

  “Good-bye, Ryan,” was all he said, refusing to look my way before gunning his truck down the back alley, passenger door still wide open.

  I couldn’t say it back. I wouldn’t.

  Not yet.

  “THANKS FOR COMING over.”

  Cruz smiled at me as I carried a couple of cups of tea into the living room. “I was planning on being here either way, so no problem.”

  “After this morning, all of those people and cameras and questions, and then Grant . . .” I handed him his cup before settling onto the couch beside him with mine. “I guess I just needed someone to talk to.”

  “I’m a great someone to talk to.” He winked at me and took a sip.

  It was just after nine. Cruz had already been here for a couple of hours, just hanging out, playing card games and telling jokes and drinking cheap motel coffee like this was all he wanted to do on his Tuesday night. Cruz was one of the few people in the world I trusted, which was why I’d invited him here tonight.

  The television was tuned to a local news channel, but I’d turned down the volume a while ago when I felt confident they’d moved on past the image of the young woman standing outside of her motel room in a bathrobe the morning after Grant Turner had dropped her off.

  Cruz rose from the couch to peek through the curtains. “It’s weird how they were all just here, and then they were all just gone.”

  “I’ll take weird if it means them leaving and staying away.” I drew my legs beneath me and leaned my head into my hand to get comfortable. I’d survived the day by staying sequestered in the motel room, which was no small thing.

  “Think they lost interest?”

  My eyes drifted toward the television. “Or they found some other woman Grant was dropping off at another hotel.”

  “He should have at least called or texted to let you know he wasn’t coming tonight. You guys had plans to go out.” Cruz turned from the window and leaned into the wall. He’d shown up to hang out in a vest and wool slacks, like GQ could come knocking any moment.

  “He was pretty clear earlier this morning with his good-bye. It was one of those final, you’re-dead-to-me kind of farewells.”

  “Still—”

  “I’m the one who hurt him, Cruz. It was me, not him. He had every right to drive away the way he did this morning, after what I did to him then and what he assumed this morning. It’s fine.?
??

  “No, it’s not fine.” He crossed his arms. “You two need to talk. How’s that going to happen if he doesn’t show up when he says he’s going to?”

  My eyes cast down as I remembered the way he’d looked this morning. “He did show up. I didn’t have to ask or anything. He just got in the car and got here. He did show up.”

  Cruz waved at where I was spread out on the couch, wearing jeans and a sweater, when I was supposed to be out with Grant, explaining seven years of my life. “And then he left because, go figure, you two seem destined to spend the rest of your lives victim to some serious miscommunications.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not fine. You two need to talk. Need to.” Cruz looked me in the eye, not blinking.

  “I know. We will. You know Grant. He needs a few days to cool off, then we’ll talk.”

  His head fell back against the wall, and he shook it. “He’s flying back to New York tomorrow morning. You know, that big city where he lives and plays football for one of the best teams in the country? Oh, yeah, and then there’s the fact that he’s one of the best players in the country and barely has enough free time to scratch his balls during the season. So how do you expect him to have time to fly back down here to have a chat with you that you two should be having right this very moment?” Cruz had to catch his breath at the end of that, but he never stopped staring me dead in the eye.

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “You better. Or else I’ll tell him. Because Grant is a good person, Ryan. He deserves to know. And you need to tell him. Soon.”

  I sighed, knowing he was right.

  “Speaking of . . .” Cruz lifted his chin at the television before wandering over and dialing up the volume.

  I heard his voice before I saw his face. Grant was on the television, giving an interview to a roomful of reporters. A caption at the bottom of the screen said it had been recorded earlier and that it was an impromptu interview he’d surprised the local press with.

  He’d changed from his inside-out shirt into a long-sleeve Henley and had on a New York Storm hat. The press asked various questions about his season and how he was feeling coming off a torn ACL from last season, but not a single question circled around the woman he’d dropped off at The Starlight Motel the night before. Not one. Which was not a coincidence, since I recognized a good handful of those reporters from earlier this morning, waving their damn mics in my face.